


now we spin laps around the sun

by stayingputwouldbeablunder



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: AO3 Fundraiser Auction, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Isaac Feels, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Multiple, Pack Bonding, Pack Family, Pack Feels, Peter's a creep, Post Season 2, Slow Build, The Alpha Pack, a huge creep, for everyone except Erica and Boyd, not canon compliant for season 3, probably
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-11
Updated: 2013-10-29
Packaged: 2017-12-14 06:51:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 19,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/833988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stayingputwouldbeablunder/pseuds/stayingputwouldbeablunder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter is many things but a savior is not one of them. Isaac misses Erica and Boyd more than his father and that should really say something about his loyalties. Lydia has mastered the art of reining in her emotions in so no one can tell when she's about to break. Allison can run laps around the other hunters and still has the finesse to manage what's left of her relationship with Scott. Derek has never missed his family more than he does now. And Stiles should really just be used to this all by now.</p><p>The story of Peter Hale’s unwanted redemption, how scheming set into motion everything that would ruin his plans, and the pack became a family.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. all the gods lost 2-1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dish](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dish/gifts).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I volunteered to be a writer for the AO3 auction on tumblr back in April and the lovely [Forwardish](http://forwardish.tumblr.com) bid on me. I offered a 4000 word story but that manifested into something much larger because the prompt was just too wonderful: “Peter isn't looking for a redemption arc. Peter did not come back to make amends, Peter is not to be trusted, Peter can play them like puppets. He gets his redemption arc anyways. He's not exactly pleased about this development. Or, how Peter tried to ruin everyone's lives and instead helped everyone get their groove back. Featuring Lydia Martin taking NO ONE'S SHIT, Isaac actually dealing with the fact that he probably has PTSD, Derek learning how to alpha, Scott and Allison working on their shit, and Derek and Stiles fighting turning into flirting when they weren't paying attention.”
> 
> I realize now that this is going to be a lot more angsty than what you were probably asking for but I hope you like this regardless.
> 
> Word of warning: the way I write Peter is _not_ the way I actually perceive characters and their actions. I like Peter in the same way I hate him: he's a sassy asshole.
> 
> Oh, I have a beta now too! Go say hello to [sorcerous-kitty](http://sorcerous-kitty.tumblr.com) on tumblr. She did a fantastical job editing all of my mistakes out of this chapter! (THANKS!)

Peter is many things but savior is not one of them. He’s cunning, handsome, talented with words and not afraid to use his looks to get things done. Before the fire he was calmer, more human, had a wife and daughter. But now they are nothing more than forgotten ash dwelling in the basement of the place he once called home. He wants to tell Derek nothing good will come from staying here, not with the condition the house is in, not with the Alpha pack’s triskele branded on the front door like an invitation.

He’d like to tell Derek this, but that would completely negate the point of coming back to life.

Peter isn’t sure how he got here. Well, not _here_ here, this town that holds nothing but bitter memories. But here as in this point in the game, where the Alphas have been circling for months, never making moves, only plotting and scheming, doing the things Peter has become so talented in since the lovely Miss Martin used her immunity to revive him.

It’s been two months since the night at the warehouse and Peter stayed back in the shadows while he watched wolves and hunters unite over the same threat: Gerard Argent and Jackson the kanima. Derek didn’t want Peter to come out from hiding unless necessary because Scott’s loose alliance with Chris Argent would perish. So Peter hid, made snarky comments he knew Derek could hear, showed his face long enough to gut the Whittemore kid.

That should have killed him, really. Claws to the stomach from an alpha and another set from a wolf that was undead should have sent the kid’s immune system into shock. When he fell to the ground, Lydia crying in that pretty way Peter knew too well, his body should have rejected the bite. Instead he stood, eyes burning a sky blue, and like that, he was one of them.

The beta, the only one left, Isaac had asked the following day why Jackson’s eyes turned blue instead of gold like his own and Scott’s. Peter told him, ignoring the way Derek huffed: he had the blood on innocents on his hands. Derek snapped at him after he said Derek’s eyes had been the same color once and Isaac curled into himself, drawing away from the Hales and taking a step back.

As much confidence as the bite had given the kid, the toll of his packmates leaving has pushed him right back into the cautious state he’d been in when his father was alive. Peter could smell it on him, amidst the curiosity and hurt, when the beta had asked what the angular triskele on the front door of the Hale house had meant. Derek had sighed, not offered much information, and tensed when he admitted that it was a pack of alphas. It was a delight that what Peter followed with, ‘ _they’re not coming, they’re already here_ ’, made Derek nervous enough to make sure he always knows where Isaac is.

Derek is a shit alpha. Peter knows it, Derek knows it, his flighty little betas knew it. Isaac is the only one left of his trio. The other two are still off on their escapade which will ultimately lead to them coming home with their tails between their legs or getting their throats slit. The packs on the west coast are mostly family based, old names with long lineages of wolf in their genes. They are packs that prefer to only bring new members in that are connected to their wolves by blood or marriage, not two immature pups riding power trips.

Peter is more a beta than Isaac is; that in itself is another indication of Derek’s lack of leadership. Isaac flitters in an out of the warehouse most days since the school year has ended, sleeping in the makeshift bed in the subway car. Derek bought the loft a few weeks ago but has yet to offer the teen the spare room. It is a pitiful thing to see them interact. Derek always looks like a mixture of regret and anger when Isaac asks if he is going to try rebuilding the pack. The alpha’s expression grows sour when the teen mentions Scott and most of those conversations ended with Isaac leaving.

Jackson spends three weeks after school is over being pack, asking questions and being obedient, all the things a good beta should be. Derek talks him through how to find his anchor, encourages Isaac to participate, tries to be a good alpha. Peter ignores the looks the Whittemore kid gives him but revels in the fact his scent changes to emit the slightest bit of fear.

Jackson leaves at the beginning of June with a small send-off from Isaac and promises Derek he’ll keep in touch and let him know when he’s coming back. Derek just shrugs noncommittally but puts his hand on the beta’s shoulder and squeezes before he leaves. Isaac trails along after, because Scott and his lot are seeing him to the airport.

Whatever semblance of pack was there, however momentary it was, sends Derek back into brooding. Isaac starts spending more time away from the warehouse. Peter’s grin grows wider.

Things are going according to plan.

\- - -

To say Peter likes to shadow people is more of an understatement than most insults directed at him. He plays with the benefits of stealth and hyper-aware hearing, uses those to track people down. Isaac is easy to follow because for all the training Derek has done with him, it revolves around fighting but not how to observe. The beta never catches Peter’s scent because it’s been diluted since his revival and following Isaac becomes Peter’s new pastime between tracking the Alphas.

For as loyal as the kid tries to be, he spends an awful amount of time with Scott. After the departure of the Whittemore kid, Isaac gravitates towards the self-proclaimed alpha of his human pack. Scott is always easy-going when it comes to Isaac, talks to him like they’ve been friends for years, doesn’t shy away when the beta unconsciously scent marks him.

Following Isaac evolves into following Scott and grows to include his best friend and their entire motley crew. Peter reports back what bits of information are most likely to set Derek off. Since Jackson’s gone Stiles has become the ever faithful lapdog of Lydia in his place. Some kid Peter’s never heard of is often out with them around town, Danny something, another human. Deaton’s been teaching Scott and Isaac things without giving too much about the meaning behind it. What frustrates Derek most is when he learns his missing betas have been contact with the son of the Sheriff and not their former alpha.

It’s easy really, to play along with this act, to pretend he’s there to be a good member of the pack. He does it with a smile, so Derek will trust him enough not to slit his throat again, rely on him to dig up whatever information he can find on the Alphas. Peter does, thankful one of the first things he did after he became alpha was have everything the Hales had on werewolf lore transferred onto his laptop.

Peter plays along because this is all just a game until the Alphas make their first move and Derek will be forced to make his own. Peter can pretend to be his beta, _beta_ to his socially inept twenty-three-year-old nephew who should never have been Alpha to begin with. It’s something he reminds Derek of on occasion, with a sneer and calculated word choice.

It’s just a matter of time, he reminds himself. He’ll stay a member of his nephew’s haphazard pack until he can kill one of the Alphas himself, take their power from them and use it advance himself back to where he belongs: someone who knows to be leader. It makes his blood flare and sing with the thought.

He can leave, travel on the funds the fire and eight life insurance policies has manifested into, settle down somewhere desolate and surrounded by forests. He can build a pack of his own, ruin them the proper way, regain that sliver of humanity that still resides in his burnt-up heart. Derek wouldn’t ask him to stay.

But this game is just as much about becoming an Alpha again as is it reminding Derek that this is all his fault in the end. He brought Kate Argent into their lives, let the huntress into their den, made it possible for the woman to murder their family, their blood, their _pack_. Derek deserves this as much as Kate deserved the claws to her jugular.

So maybe Peter will stay. Lure Isaac away from Derek and Scott because as much as Scott likes say he’s no one’s beta, he’s not old enough to know how to lead. Stiles is the brains behind their duo and his confidence has only burgeoned over the summer: Peter corners him in the supermarket one night because he’s bored and the teenager pulls a knife reeking of wolfsbane from his jeans. The werewolf just laughs, congratulates Stiles on finally learning to defend himself, and tells the teen to say hello to the Sheriff for him.

\- - -

Peter maintains that Stiles would make an excellent wolf. The kid is quick witted and smart, smarter than Scott or Derek give him credit for. He offers his thoughts on the subject and that flips some switch in Derek to the point he wraps a hand around Peter’s throat, claws piercing skin as blood swells beneath them. Peter condescends to pat Derek’s forearm as his nephew loosens his grip, eyes fading from red to hazel when he realizes what he’s done.

Stiles is a trigger. Scott was already a trigger, but this, _this_ he can work with. Peter files that bit of information in the back of his mind, apologizes for speaking out of line, and walks from the loft as he begins to plot.

It’s the third week in June when things start to change. The Alphas are still circling, hiding in the shadows unbeknownst to Scott or Stiles, to Lydia and that Danny kid, to the Argents. Or they would be if Isaac learned to keep his mouth shut. The beta comes treading into the loft one early afternoon, head down and hands shaking. Derek takes one look at him and Isaac breaks.

He’s told Scott, who in turn has told the hunters, told the family whose name and scents have never sat well on Peter’s tongue. He’s told Stiles because they’re friends now; it explains why he smells like both him and McCall. He’s told Erica and Boyd because he misses them and wants them to come home.

“They’re pack, Derek. We need them.”

“They ran, they abandoned you. And me. They wanted an out and they took it. Why tell them anything?”

“They’d be an advantage to our numbers,” Peter offers, thumbing through a book that once belonged to Talia. “Deucalion has more wolves at his disposal than the whole of Beacon Hills does.”

“No.”

Isaac all but deflates until the air is swamped with anxiety and Peter can hear the way the teenager’s heartbeat increases. He smirks from behind his palm, covering his mouth as Derek watches Isaac pad into the kitchen. The alpha sighs after a few minutes and Peter nods when Derek points to the door.

He doesn’t leave the building until he’s gathered what may be useful. His nephew and Isaac chat in the kitchen for half an hour in forced conversation, mostly on Derek’s part. Isaac pleads, whines like a pup, tells Derek he needs to trust him. Scott’s name comes up a few times and Peter smirks when Derek’s vocabulary reduces to growling.

Peter returns to the loft the next day and almost immediately his mood turns sour. Isaac is curled up on the couch, face buried in throw pillows that were not there the day before, wrapped in the comforter from his nephew’s bed. Derek is nowhere to be seen but there are noises coming from upstairs, sounds reverberating down the metallic spiral staircase. The beta doesn’t stir when Peter passes until he places a hand close to Isaac’s face. The teen whimpers then, rolls until he’s facing the back of the couch, and slips into deeper sleep.

Derek’s upstairs, slotting together a cheap bed frame before dropping the metal back to the ground and testing the wheels. Peter raises an eyebrow and remains on the stairs until Derek turns around. Naturally, Peter’s first question is “Do you really think this is a good idea?”

The alpha just shrugs, lifting the boxsprings and mattress onto the frame with ease. The rest of the bedding he leaves untouched. Peter takes in the amount of bags and boxes lining the wall and frowns.

It’s nesting, or as close to nesting as one can get. Derek did it with his loft, Peter with the upscale apartment he owns downtown. Even though this neglected little room is in Derek’s home, this space is Isaac’s. It already smells of him with his personal belongings overflowing out of boxes. Derek takes one last look around before flicking his eyes toward Peter and down the stairs.

Isaac’s still passed out, comforter wrapped around his frame, unaware of his alpha and fellow beta walking past. Peter could make the comment that the teen is going to get attached to Derek like he is Scott but that’s the point, he guesses. Derek needs Isaac, needs Peter, needs his other betas and Scott because his pack hardly qualifies as one. If Derek can trust Isaac enough to let the beta drench his scent into something the alpha sleeps with, maybe Derek can trust Peter.

Plans remain the same. Isaac living with Derek makes pack time easier to coordinate, so they can sit and pour over books and Peter’s laptop, try and find as much information out about Deucalion and his pack without tailing them. Isaac disappears for hours at a time, coming home smelling of Scott, Stiles, or Deaton. Sometimes he has this dazed look on his face with a hint of a smile; Peter knows before he ever sees because the kid’s scent smells sweet.

Peter still follows the Alphas because it fills the nights with something to do. Deucalion is often in the company of at least one other alpha, only uses his cane when absolutely necessary. Kali, he tells Derek with vivid descriptions, never wears shoes. The twins are only distinguishable because one stares at women and the other at men. It’s all meaningless tidbits of information that never help them accomplish their goal.

The triskele pops up from time to time: hidden beneath the red paint on the front door of their old home, burnt into a tree in the middle of the Preserve, drawn in the dust on the hood of the Camaro. It’s a calling card and incentive in one but their pack lacks the power to pursue. It’s a threat.

The Alphas want Derek. They make that much clear when they corner the alpha and Peter in graveyard where all the Hale family members are buried. Deucalion steps all over Laura’s headstone with feigned ignorance and Derek snaps his jaw with a loud clack. Peter’s teeth grow when Kali drags her feet across his brother-in-law’s headstone, Derek’s father, but he bites back the growl in his throat. The alpha of Alphas goes on about what he wishes to happen and Peter can smell the blood running from Derek’s palms from where his claws are digging into flesh.

Instead of feeding into their threats like his nephew is so prone to do, Peter steps back, observes how the others compose themselves around so many alphas. Kali never stops moving, Deucalion likes to hear himself talk, Aiden and Ethan inherently mimic each other’s movements. Ennis is the only one who shows Deucalion the same type of respect a normal beta would to their alpha.

He’ll be the first Peter will try to kill.

\- - -

As July lulls by, their steady routine of training and researching comes to a halt one hot night. Derek’s at his loft, most likely cooking dinner for himself and Isaac, while Peter’s off to see Deaton. It’s something he’s been avoiding for months, much like a child would avoid a dentist. Peter’s known Deaton since before Laura was born and Deaton hasn’t enjoyed his company in almost the same amount of time.

He and Morrell were the ones who trailed after Gerard the night things came to a head in the warehouse. The high school guidance counselor smashed the old man’s head in with the heel of her boot, unaware to Peter’s lurking. Deaton spoke in the same calm tone as he always did, circled Argent’s body with an umber powder, and spoke some ancient tongue into the line until the body went up in flames and the acrid scent of burning flesh and hair filled the air. Peter left the moment the odor hit his senses.

Smoke is always going to be a trigger, an insight that Derek will never understand for as much as he punishes himself for what happened to their family. Peter likes pretend it doesn’t bother him, that when he stands in the foyer of what once his home he doesn’t hear the voices of his siblings, of his daughter. He thinks that coming back from the dead has skewed his pulse’s normal rhythm because Derek rarely calls him out on his lies.

Or possibly he’s stopped caring and the whole ‘return to Alpha status’ plan is that much closer to completion.

The sign on the door to the clinic reads _Closed_ like always; it is eight. Peter doesn’t bother checking the lock, simply opens the door and smiles when it chimes. Scott is standing by the swinging door of the reception desk, lip curled back as his canines grow.

“Now that’s not very nice, Scott. You don’t even know why I’m here.”

“I don’t care. Take another step and you’ll regret it.”

“You’ve already assisted in ending my life once. Dying really isn’t something I’m terrified of anymore.”

“You wouldn’t be here if you weren’t,” the vet says as he walks from the exam room. “Peter.”

“Deaton.”

“Scott, go home. We have two surgeries tomorrow and Isaac won’t be in until the afternoon.”

“Doc-"

“It’s alright. Hales and their attitudes are something I’ve become accustomed to over the years.” Deaton smiles softly and Scott’s fangs recede. “Tell Stilinski to come by with Isaac in the afternoon.”

“Okay.”

Scott reaches under the desk for a helmet and denim jacket, smirk on his lips when Peter raises an eyebrow. He pushes past his former alpha, flashing amber irises as if it’s threatening. Peter rolls his eyes and crosses his arms.

“Why I ever wanted him in my pack is beyond me,” he offers, advancing to the desk to lean against it.

“What do you want, Peter?”

“You should know by now, surely. It’s been two-“

“Three. There was a full moon two weeks ago. I guess raising from the dead means your ability to remember things has gone as well.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Peter replies, eyes scanning the display on heartworm preventative. “I’ve simply had more pressing matters.”

“That’s dangerous seeing how the magic you used to come back relies on the moon.”

“You would know. You were the one who lent my family the book on resurrection rituals.”

Deaton turns around to head into the exam room, an unsaid invitation for Peter to follow him. He does but not before whistling at the boarding area so the cats go into hysterics and the dogs start barking. Peter grins when Deaton pulls a book down from a shelf with veterinary texts as well as a jar with the symbol for mountain ash on it. He walks into the kennel then and the clinic goes quiet.

“I can think of twenty ways to incapacitate you if you do that again,” the veterinarian says when he comes back in, setting the mountain ash on the counter. “And that book was meant for Laura.”

“You lent a book on werewolf rituals to an entire family of werewolves. Like we weren’t all going to be curious and read it.”

“If I remember correctly your wife was human. Or she was when I met her. That would explain why you never used magic to bring her back.”

Peter’s eyes glow blue. Deaton flips through the pages of his book, heart rate as steady as it was when Peter walked into the clinic, scent nothing but a mixture of animals and chlorhexidine. The vet looks up, lips upturned because he’s always been good at ruffling the werewolf’s metaphorical feathers.

“Well?” Peter clicks his nails, long and sharp, against the metal exam table.

“You’re the one who did the magic. You know the consequences.”

“Excuse me for not having the book on me when I came back to life seeing how it went up in flames with my entire family.”

“Three months left.” Deaton turns the book around, sliding it across the table for Peter to read. “To find and create your own pack.”

Peter drums his nails across the metal once more before skimming the old text. He knew it, just wanted it confirmed. He offers Deaton a practiced smile before waving and walking from the clinic.

\- - -

Six years of healing painfully slowly gave him a lot of time to reflect back on what happened, how there hadn’t been any way out, how he could hear Kate’s manic cackling over the screams of his family and the fire roaring as it engulfed his home. He had time to slowly lose his mind, trapped inside a damaged cage. He had time plan how to make things right, to fix the state of his body, to take the power that Talia lost when she died away from Laura.

Insanity is the plea Peter offered to Derek and some part of it was true. He wasn’t in his right mind when he killed Laura because being listless with little human contact for so long left him unhinged. It’s why he had no qualms in who he bit. Scott was just an unlucky kid who happened to be in the woods the night he became alpha. Lydia was gorgeous and naïve but strong-willed and good leverage. Stiles would have been the penultimate beta to his collection before eventually turning Allison because he would have solidified Scott’s acceptance to acknowledge Peter as his alpha.

Being practically comatose with nothing to do also left him with a lot of time to organize alternative plans if something were to go wrong. He remembered scouring over the text Deaton had lent his niece for hours, embedding the information into his brain, in case it ever became useful. He made plans until one day he woke up and felt like speaking.

In the next few weeks, Beacon Hills went to shit. Laura died, the hunters arrived, Derek came back to investigate. Scott was bit, Peter went on murdering everyone that helped Kate with assassinating his family, he beat the crap of his nephew in front of Stiles. Event after event after event went his way except Lydia not turning. So between warping and guilting Derek into reluctantly joining his pack, he prepared for what would happened if he died after he completed his goal of ending Kate’s life. He couldn’t have asked for someone more gifted than Lydia to be the person who would help bring him back should the time come.

The magic he used was derived on transfer of power from an alpha. Peter’s been living on borrowed time and he knows it. The rules were clear: six and a half months to obtain alpha standing, create a pack, and solidify the power he borrowed from Derek. If it doesn’t happen, he will die in the same fashion as his first death.

And being set on fire for a third time in his life, followed by bleeding out? Not a high priority.

\- - -

When Peter shows up at the loft the next evening, after spending the day following Kali as she ran the woods around Beacon Hills as a wolf, he’s surprised but not shocked that there are two familiar scents as well as two new scents in the apartment. Voices are coming from the kitchen, rapid heartbeats, excited scents amidst the normal smell of metal and old wood. He can hear Derek standing in the small room where he knocked down the wall, biting out conversation with Stiles in an irritated tone.

Peter steps into the kitchen to see what all the fuss is about and finds the two missing betas leaning against the counter as Isaac bounces back and forth on his feet. Scott turns to smirk at him, something he is far too comfortable in doing, when the rest of the betas look at him. The runways’ eyes flicker gold for a moment and they turn their noses upwards at him.

“Peter, this is Erica and Boyd,” Isaac chimes and it’s clear he’s more ecstatic than anyone that they’re in the loft.

“Why are they covered in blood?”

“We killed Ennis,” the blonde says, the kid to her left twining their fingers together.

They’re not alphas; they don’t know the methods to transfer the power of an alpha outside their pack to themselves. But with the amount of blood they’re covered in and the way their pulses remain even, he knows they’re telling the truth.

“Ah. And how did you manage that?”

Damn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One the things I love about writing but rarely do is write stories from POVs other than characters I am comfortable with. So the plan with this story is six chapters, ~4000 words each, told from different people's perspectives but ultimately building upon the previous chapter into one longer piece. Isaac's chapter will be next, followed by Lydia, Allison, Derek, and finally Stiles. Peter will be some part of each because this is his unwanted redemption fic but I'm not sure how yet. I'm still trying to determine how I want this thing to develop.
> 
>  ~~Note that this chapter is subject to change, mainly the bit about werewolf eye color, as is the piece as whole with the progression of the new season~~. [UPDATE: I changed it.] While this piece takes place chronologically before the beginning of S3 and is not canon compliant, I'll more than likely just pull bits of information about what everyone was up to during the summer and include it in future chapters.
> 
> Also, I got a bit carried away with Peter’s chapter. He was really _really_ difficult for me to write at first, but once I got comfortable I kind of just rolled with it. I mostly just wanted to establish his mindset for why he’s doing what he is because no one can tell me he came back to life and didn’t have to a pay a price for it. He’s going to have to give something up or suffer in some way eventually.
> 
> The title of this piece and all chapter titles are lyrics from the song “2-1” by Imogen Heap. It pretty much sets the tone for this piece. Oops.
> 
> Feel free to come say hello on my [tumblr](http://stayingputwouldbeablunder.tumblr.com)!


	2. you're not alone in this

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Instinct, he’s learned, is the only thing that has kept him alive since.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The moral of the story is that I am a lying liar whose pants caught on fire months ago and have since been reduced to ash. All the apologies in the world would not make up for taking so long to update this story. But I am sorry.
> 
> Unbeta'd, whoops.
> 
> Lots of notes at the end.

Isaac misses Erica and Boyd more than his father and that should really say something about his loyalties. They were only together for little over a month but they were the closest he’s felt to having family in years. They looked out for one another, kept each other company, ran the halls of Beacon Hills High School as the new resident badasses and had _fun_ doing so. The bite gave them more than enhanced senses, strength, and healing.

It gave them a family. It gave them somewhere to belong with people who knew how it felt to be invisible. It made them feel important and alive.

Now Isaac is alone again, beta to an alpha who was never meant to lead. Packmate to a homicidal thirty-something who leers all too frequently. Homeless because his actual home makes him itchy with discomfort.

This is not how he wants to spend his summer. The warehouse is not where he wants to wake up in the morning. The perpetual scowl his alpha is wearing is not the expression he wants to see every time he asks him a question.

All Isaac wants is nothing more than for his family to come back and for the empty feeling of loneliness to dissipate like the binding ring of mountain ash Stiles had broken let Derek save Scott the night of the rave.

\- - -

Isaac can remember the last night he spent with his mother. She had been in the kitchen getting ready to make him dinner, mac and cheese because Isaac was nine and it was his most favorite meal in the world. He especially liked when she cut up hot dogs and put them in the noodles. She’d always joke that it was her way of getting him to eat meat and Isaac would just beam at her because her smile was infectious. 

That night she had forgotten to pick up hotdogs and asked Isaac if he would like to come with her to the grocery store down the street. Isaac had nodded, smiled with missing teeth, and leaned into her when she placed a kiss on top of his head. He loved when she would run her fingers through his hair, flattening out the curls just enough that his hair didn’t knot.

The street wasn’t overly busy that night. There was the normal rush hour traffic but everything was fine. They were only two blocks away when his mother started to cross an intersection and a van slammed against the driver’s side.

Isaac doesn’t recall much of the aftermath of the wreck. There was distant screaming, pain everywhere. He thinks he probably yelled for his mother, tried to reach for her from behind the crushed-in side of the car. The next thing he vividly remembers is waking up in the back of an ambulance and the paramedics holding him down before they shot him full of anesthetics. Hours later he woke up in a hospital bed, a cast around his left arm and leg, and Camden sitting next to his bed.

The nurses gave him pain meds, a police officer came in and questioned him, he scratched at the skin he could reach beneath the cast until he broke into hives. No one said a word about his mother and Isaac was too afraid to ask. So he stayed quiet, swallowed the antibiotics he was given, didn’t complain when the nurses poked at his stomach because they were afraid of internal bleeding. Thirty-six hours after he arrived in the ER, his father walked into his room, sank into the chair next to his bed, and said mom was gone. Isaac cried and Mr. Lahey did too.

His father stopped showing his affection after that. It would be years before the physical and verbal abuse started, after Camden died and Isaac chose lacrosse over swimming, but it was the beginning of a downward spiral and strained relationship between father and sons. His father made him help Camden dig their mother’s grave and even at nine he knew that was something normal dads wouldn’t make their sons do. Isaac got dirt in his cast and had to be prescribed antihistamines for scratching.

For a while, Mr. Lahey tried to fill the void by spending his free time with his sons. Camden participated but resented him because he was also the swim coach. Isaac on the other hand enjoyed their family time: before the accident he never spent a lot of time with his father. It hurt, though, when he’d turn around, smiling and excited to tell his mom something, and his dad was there instead.

Family time ended a year after the accident. Isaac’s father devoted his time to the swim team. Camden ignored his little brother so Isaac attempted to make friends.

Thinking back, he doesn’t remember Matt. Not really. They’d lived down the street at the time, before Mr. Lahey decided he couldn’t live in a place that reminded him so much of the wife he lost. He thinks he remembers Matt as this nosy kid but other than that he’s not sure. Maybe that’s for the best. There are a lot of things from growing up that he can’t remember and most have reasons behind them.

Isaac was eleven the summer Camden shipped out to South Carolina, the first of two training camps he would go to before being ready for deployment. His brother had never forgiven him for what had happened to their mom but hugged him anyway, told him to take care of their dad. He ran his fingers through Isaac’s curls like their mother had before exchanging a strong hug with his father and walking through the security line at the airport.

Seven months later Isaac was twelve and Camden came home this hardened shell of his former self. He was still arrogant, but overall more reserved; Isaac assumed it was because he’d gotten into the AIT he wanted and spent an extra month in South Carolina. Camden spent two weeks at home over the holidays before being shipped off to Iraq. He didn’t hug Isaac when he left that time.

When Camden died, his father lost whatever control he had over his emotions. Isaac was barely thirteen the first time his father slapped him, straight across the cheek. He went to school the next day with a bruise and when a teacher asked what happened, he had told her he’d fallen out of bed. It wasn’t a lie per se; nightmares plagued him once a week like clockwork and more than once he woke up on the floor, sweating profusely and crying.

Isaac thought his father hadn’t meant to hurt him because he apologized and actually looked guilty. Three months later he shoved Isaac down the hallway and the bookshelf at the end broke his fall. His father had blamed him for being a klutz but not before saying he needed Isaac to cover the night shift at the graveyard because one of the temps was sick. Isaac spent an hour trying to fix the bookshelf, something his mother had bought when he was five, before giving up.

No one saw the bruises the next day. If there was one good thing about living in Northern California it was that the weather was cool from October through May and no one questioned long sleeves. His clothes were what helped him keep his secret for as long as they did.

The verbal abuse didn’t really manifest until the winter of his freshman year. Isaac had the choice of trying out for lacrosse or the swim team and against his better judgment, he picked lacrosse. For three weeks, his father picked him apart until the teen was almost in tears. He only stopped after Isaac said he would start working at the graveyard on weeknights after practice. That, Mr. Lahey perked up at.

He is surprised Miss Morrell never pulled him out of class. He’d shown up late to introductory chemistry with Harris one morning and the teacher had barely glanced over him and the bloody remnants of his fingernails. A week after that he’d walked into English with a split lip and bruising around his nose. His teacher at the time had pulled him aside and asked where he’d gotten injured. Isaac lied because even if his father was across town, he was still terrifying.

Maybe Isaac just blended in too well. His grades were good, mostly As, a couple of Bs, one C that resulted in stitches. He was on the lacrosse team but usually benched. He didn’t really have friends; he just kind of existed. Floated on until maybe one day something better would come along and he could leave.

Isaac knew who Derek was before the night the kanima had come at him in the graveyard. Everyone who had lived in Beacon Hills for more than six years knew the story, how the family perished, left Laura and Derek orphans and Peter in a critical care facility. He knew the rumors of some woman who had contributed to the crime. It had only been a couple days prior that Kate Argent was ever charged posthumously and Isaac felt no remorse when he was tasked with digging her grave.

He could have said no, avoided this whole mess indefinitely. But Isaac wanted power, wanted something to boost his confidence, wanted to not be terrified of being locked in the freezer in the basement. So he sought Derek out that night in the warehouse, got the bite, was arrested for suspicion of murder a few days later.

Erica made things easier. He liked her right off the bat because one of the first things she did after turning was size Isaac up, smile with all her teeth, and run her fingers through his hair like his mother used to because he looked at her eyes first, not her cleavage. Isaac _loved_ Erica after a week, because for the first time in years, he wasn’t alone in the world. He was pack with someone else who had gone through life with shit misfortune, who knew what it was like to be an indistinguishable wallflower, to have suffered. Derek was there, yes, but Derek was the quick lipped smart ass telling them to do things then breaking their bones.

Boyd was their saving grace. He was calm, accepted the bite because he had nothing to lose. He became the final outcast to join the ranks. Isaac admired how calm Boyd always was, how even hours after turning he had more control than Isaac or Erica had. He liked how Derek placed the most responsibility on the newest beta so the other two could run around causing mayhem. He liked how Boyd made Erica’s face light up when she saw him between classes.

They fell into easy camaraderie because they were a pack, small and young, but a pack none the less. But as the days went by and the kanima became a more serious matter, they all stepped up their games. Isaac became boisterous, sarcastic and charming, like he knew everything because the bite gave him the self-assurance he had always dreamt of. Erica went out and bought an entirely new wardrobe, dragged Isaac along and made him hold things for her while she pulled clothes off the racks in a store she’d never had the confidence to step into. Boyd finally felt like he belonged in his own skin and ditched his baggy wardrobe. They sat together at Boyd’s table during lunch and smiled to themselves while eavesdropping on any conversations they wanted to.

When they trained it was easy to let the bravado of being new bitten wolves seep into their confidence. So Derek treated them harshly, tried to drill what he knew into their heads, tried to be the alpha they needed to survive. But Derek wasn’t meant to be an alpha and they knew it.

Isaac found himself at Deaton’s after walking three miles from the warehouse the first afternoon Scott deigned to acknowledge him as an equal. He hadn’t meant to cry or to even tell Scott that the other betas were going to leave. But he did, because instinct said to trust him.

Instinct, he’s learned, is the only thing that has kept him alive since.

\- - -

The week after Jackson turns, Isaac sits with Scott at lunch because he has no one else to associate with. Stiles stares at him for a full three minutes before asking if Erica and Boyd came back after Gerard left them suspended from the ceiling in the Argent's basement. Isaac whips his head up, asks what the fuck he is talking about, and digs his claws into the plywood bench. Scott’s heartbeat matches his and Isaac realizes it’s the first time he’s hearing about it too.

Stiles divulges the events, points to his face, slips in a lie here and there that he probably doesn’t want Scott to know. Isaac hands are shaking by the time the lunch bell rings and instead of going to econ, he calls Derek for a ride. The alpha reluctantly agrees, pulling up to the back entrance with the windows of the Camaro rolled down.

Isaac repeats what Stiles had told him word for word and they’re out in the woods twenty minutes later. Derek leaves the car at the mouth of the gravel road that leads to his burned out home, chiding Isaac when he heads in the wrong direction. The teen ducks his head, following after his alpha; it’s not his fault he’s never been properly taught how to follow scents.

Peter joins them two hours later, looking bored, picking at his nails as Derek’s eyes bleed red. Isaac’s finally caught the other beta’s scents; the field they walked through was rank with their blood. Peter stares at him for a few moments before sighing, eyes glowing blue. No one talks and the forest fills with sounds of crunching leaf litter.

He doesn’t catch the change at first, how the air shifts from clean and crisp to musky, the tension almost palpable. Derek stops in front of a tree, eyes still red as he examines a pile of twigs that have been disturbed. Peter’s glancing around, nose upturned, default grin shifting into a grimace.

“You can smell it, can’t you Isaac?” he says, turning to face the beta.

“Peter,” Derek says, standing as his eyes flick back and forth.

“He’ll find out soon enough, Derek. Use this as way to teach him. Heaven knows you never did it with your other betas.”

Isaac closes his eyes, lets his nose try and figure out the riddle. He can hear Peter chuckling to himself, how Derek’s sighs are heavy. And then _it’s there_ , muddled under the scent of rain and sap. _Werewolves_ , multiple.

Not Erica, who smells like apples and cinnamon. Not Boyd, who smells like spiced plums and cleaning disinfectant. Not even like Scott, who smells like mint and puppies. His packmates’ scents are barely present, muted, buried beneath overwhelming pine and embodied atmosphere.

“Who are they?” Isaac asks, breathing in through his mouth as his amber eyes fly open. “Derek?”

“It doesn’t matter. Erica and Boyd aren’t here.”

“But they were.”

“Yes.”

Isaac’s irises go blue again. Peter’s fussing with a loose string on his sleeve and Derek’s face has gone pale. He watches his alpha’s eyes flit across the clearing, how his nostrils flare and irises burn scarlet. He turns toward one direction before walking off again, making no movements for Isaac to follow. The beta does, however, shivering when they are only fifty feet away from the clearing. Whatever - _whoevers_ \- scents were there are gone and the path Derek is following reeks of Erica and Boyd.

“They disappeared together,” Peter supplies. “That’s odd.”

“Who are they?” Isaac stops walking when Derek sighs.

“Their scents stop here.”

“Perhaps they offered them a way out. Cloaked their scents.”

“Derek, what are you talking about?”

“Maybe they took them.”

Derek doesn’t answer, just shakes his head and starts walking in the direction they came from. Peter looks amused from where he trails behind his nephew. Isaac falls into line, trying to remember what Erica and Boyd smell like in case this is the last time he’ll ever catch their scents. It’s uncomfortably quiet until they reach the house. That’s when Isaac spots the black triskele, so different yet similar to the one Derek has embedded in his skin, brandished on the front door.

“You haven’t told him everything, have you?” Peter asks.

Isaac watches the way the Hales exchange looks, how Derek’s stature starts to fray when Peter alludes to his faults.

“What is this?” Isaac asks, approaching the door to examine the crude painting. “What does it mean?”

“It’s their symbol. It means they’re coming.”

“Who?”

“Alphas.”

“More than one?”

“A pack of them.”

“An alpha pack. And they’re not coming,” Peter states, heartbeat steady. “They’re already here.”

Isaac can hear how Derek’s pulse quickens. He touches the door, fingers tracing over the paint, still fresh. Peter clicks his tongue.

“Those are the scent’s covering Erica and Boyd’s, aren’t they?” the beta asks, pulling his hand to his chest. “Do they have them? Did they kidnap them?”

“I don’t know.” Isaac turns around, surprised the answer comes that easy. “The Alphas’ scents head in a different direction than Erica and Boyd’s.”

“But you said their scents disappeared.”

“They did. But that may have been a ploy.”

“How?”

“We can cloak our scents,” Peter says, pushing off the tree he’s leaning against. “It’s how I managed to remain anonymous as the alpha before Derek killed me.”

Derek bares his teeth at his uncle and Peter just smirks. Isaac takes a few steps back, turning to look at the door once more before making a wide arc around the Hales and towards the Camaro. His alpha tosses him the keys before casting a glare at Peter who just shrugs with feigned sympathy.

“Where did they go, Derek?” Isaac finally asks, an hour later when he’s sitting in the subway car.

“I don’t know.”

\- - -

Training with Jackson is everything Isaac doesn’t need. He doesn’t like the way the other beta seems better at things than he does. He doesn’t like the way Derek shows him patience he _never_ showed his own pack. It doesn’t help that Jackson won’t speak to Isaac unless it’s necessary. Isaac’s only there because Derek said it was required.

The teen gets it, to some extent. The former kanima has blood on his hands, always will. He seems withdrawn, despite the fact his cellphone buzzes at least ten times every day.

He may have hated his father but _Jackson_ is the one who took him away. His last family member died and Isaac still doesn’t know whether he’s sad or grateful. If anything he’s lost. The social worker he meets with once a week is the only reason he goes home; Isaac doesn’t think she even cares that he was an underage runaway. There are plenty more children in Beacon County that need an out more than he does now.

It’s when Derek talks Jackson through finding his anchor that Isaac finally lets his dislike seep into training. The other beta finds his anchor within two hours of the full moon, eyes glowing blue from the opposite end of the subway car. Derek’s sitting the middle, making sure there are no repeats of two months before: Jackson is handcuffed by his hands and feet to support bars with an additional chain wrapped around his torso.

Isaac is sitting on the floor next to his bed, half shifted but calm. His father is still his anchor, what he remembers of the year he _tried_ playing over in his head. How Camden held his hand at their mother’s funeral. How his father smiled at him when he learned how to swim butterfly.

From the other end of the subway car, the bars rattle and Jackson growls on almost a sub vocal level. Derek rubs at his face, looking haggard and tired like he always does these days. Isaac watches the other beta start to twitch and strain against the handcuffs.

“Find your anchor, Jackson. Focus. Don’t let your mind wander or you’ll slip,” Derek says, almost calming. “Breathe.”

“I have an anchor, dick,” and that is completely Jackson slipping through the gravely response. “And she’s pissed off. She’s going to hate me.”

“Lydia?” Derek asks.

“Yes. I leave next week.”

“She deserves better,” Isaac mumbles, forgetting they can all hear him clearly.

“Shut it, Lahey. I can still kick your ass.”

“I’d like to-“

“Isaac, that’s enough.”

Derek runs a hand through his hair, tilting his head back against one of the windows. Isaac smirks when the metal creaks from where Jackson’s pulling at the cuffs around his arms. He continues fidgeting until the alpha snaps him.

In the morning, Jackson goes home with a smug look on his face. Derek tells Isaac he’ll be back later and leaves without saying where he’s going. Isaac curls up on his mattress with a blanket Erica made him, hoping that wherever she and Boyd are, they’re safe.

\- - -

When Jackson leaves, Isaac stands by Scott awkwardly as Lydia hugs him goodbye. The former kanima then exchanges a handshake with Stiles that is more like two birds puffing their chests up than anything else. Scott shakes Jackson’s hand as well, telling him to keep in touch with everyone. Isaac just tilts his head and wishes him a safe flight and Jackson returns it.

They don’t stay with him as he makes his way through security. Isaac squishes into the backseat of the Jeep with Scott. His phone buzzes when they’re an hour from Beacon Hills and he’s surprised that the sender’s name is _Whittemore_.

 _Thank you_ is all it says. Isaac stares at his phone until Scott asks if he’s alright. The beta just nods, slips his phone back into his pocket, and the Jeep goes silent. The air is heavy with discomfort and Isaac wonders if Scott can smell it as well.

That night Isaac asks Derek if he plans on rebuilding the pack. They’re at Derek’s new loft, something he purchased when Jackson asked for help controlling the shift. It’s where he’s been disappearing to when he leaves Isaac in the warehouse.

Derek gives him a look that says it all. His normally hazel eyes look dull, older than they really are and missing their glow. He’s grown his beard out, too, and when he runs his fingers across his face, it makes a scratchy noise. Isaac wants to do something to make it better, to help his alpha. They’re both out families, _their_ pack family included. Peter’s on the balcony reading something but Isaac doesn’t think Derek really considers him family anymore.

Isaac doesn’t trust him. Isaac doesn’t _like_ him. The man makes him uncomfortable when he alludes to things. He’s like Deaton that way, always offering cryptic messages, just with more sass. He likes to put Isaac in his place, too, like being his elder has given him that right. The beta would say something but he just lets it be. Peter has been a werewolf longer than Isaac’s been alive and he’s convinced the man could kill him in his sleep if he wanted to.

The alpha uncrosses his arms to flatten his palms against the metal table covered in old, musty books. The air, already heavy with unease, floods with a similar scent: _regret_. Isaac doesn’t wait for Derek to answer him. He leaves the loft without saying anything and rides his bike to Scott’s.

Miss McCall answers the door, hair frayed but smiling. Scott joins her in the doorway, ushering Isaac in before saying they’re about to eat dinner. The beta offers to leave but Melissa says no, pushes him into the kitchen, and points to the pot of chili on the stove. ‘ _Help yourself. I’ll eat with you two but then I’m off to bed_ ,’ she says, smiling as she pulls a bag of cheese from the fridge.

Isaac asks where Stiles is when he and Scott have settled on the couch; the teen had mentioned seeing Scott later before dropping Isaac at the warehouse earlier. The other beta shrugs, mouth full. He flips through the channels on the television before settling on _O’ Brother Where Art Thou_. Isaac makes a noise of contentment when he starts eating and thanks Melissa for dinner when he’s finished. She smiles at him and kisses Scott on his forehead before leaving with a wave.

By the time the movie is over it’s eleven and lightly drizzling. Isaac thanks Scott and heads to the front door, shoulders dropped because he has no desire to ride back to the warehouse in the rain. Scott shakes his head before saying ‘ _dude, just spend the night. I’ll find you a blanket and some sweatpants and you can have the couch_ ’. Isaac doesn’t know what to say and just stares for a moment before the other beta grins, easy like he does with Stiles.

Scott’s a calm and stable presence in his life, helps ease the loneliness of being the last bitten wolf. They can talk for hours at Deaton’s clinic, between cleaning the exam room and taking care of the animals that are sick in the kennels. Deaton offered Isaac a part time job back in May after he calmed down snarling Persian that bit Scott four times and Isaac accepted.

The week after Jackson leaves, the social worker he meets with mentions that his case will be going to her supervisors soon, so they can determine whether to place him in foster care. His father’s savings have been frozen with the exception of debts needing to be paid. Isaac is surprised to learn Camden’s military benefits are in his name; his father never mentioned anything. The social worker pushes on though, saying he needs a guardian to access them since he’s still sixteen.

Isaac goes back to the warehouse that night and collapses on his makeshift bed with a groan. He doesn’t want to be put in foster care, if anything because he’s afraid wherever he’s sent will be just as bad as living with his abusive father. The thoughts consume him and when he goes to sleep that night, he has nightmares of being chained in the freezer.

His claws are out and his eyes are burning amber when he comes out of it. He’s covered in a layer of sweat despite the air being chilled. Isaac curls into the fetal position before burying his face in the blanket that barely smells like Erica anymore. When she and Boyd were still pack, they’d all nap together. Erica liked to hog the blanket, nestled between Isaac and Boyd, the three squished on the twin mattress.

He goes to the loft the next day and sinks into the couch as Peter goes on about this and that. Derek looks like he wants to punch his uncle in the face and the beta doesn’t blame him. The man has been describing the Alphas’ mannerisms with the accuracy of a psychologist but the focus of a fifteen year old girl: what they wear and who they most closely associate with. It’s meaningless and doesn’t help them achieve their goal of figuring out why their pack is in Beacon Hills in the first place.

Derek’s at a standstill with investigating the alphas and he still hadn’t heard from his runaway betas. _Stiles_ has though. The son of the Sheriff got a text from an unknown number two days ago and when he called it, Erica picked up with a luscious hello. Stiles, who has slowly begun to accept that Isaac is going nowhere and is learning to _share_ Scott, called him before he and the other beta sat down in the living room of the Stilinski household with bated breaths.

Erica sounded happy, joyous in a way she never had been when Jackson was the kanima. Boyd too, though he didn’t say much. Isaac barely went three minutes before blurting out the question that had been on both his and Derek’s minds for months: what happened and where did they go. Erica went quiet for a moment before admitting she wasn’t sure: one moment they were running from the Argents’ basement and the next they were at a bus stop four towns away with their backpacks and four hundred dollars in cash.

Isaac had wanted to ask if they had any recollection of the Alphas, if they could smell them. But then he remembers how Derek hadn’t even told Jackson and he was stand-in pack for weeks. The alpha probably wouldn’t have told Isaac if the triskele hadn’t been on the door.

He learned that Erica and Boyd were staying with a college student in San Francisco that was rarely home and didn’t ask questions as long as they paid weekly rent. The conversation lasted two hours and by the end, Isaac felt like the weight on his chest was finally lifted. Erica said she would call soon before asking them not to tell Derek. Isaac stiffened, silent when the blond repeated the question specifically to him. Scott patted his shoulder before resting his hand on Isaac’s back, softly repeating his name.

Isaac’s voice cracked when he promised to keep the secret. Stiles raised his eyebrow but agreed as well before ending the call. He had then forwarded Erica’s number to the beta and told him he would have Danny encrypt the number so it couldn’t be traced. Isaac had nodded before turning toward the front door. Scott did the same and ten seconds later, the Sheriff walked in looking exhausted.

When they left in the McCall’s beat up Civic, Isaac asked if he could spend the night - Scott didn’t need to know he was still sleeping in the warehouse when Derek had a spare room in the loft. Scott said yes of course and pulled out the same pillow and blanket Isaac had been using when he slept over, every few days still because summer school doesn’t start until the second week of June.

That night, Isaac dreamt of Erica and how Boyd had sat with them when they were both recovering from the kanima’s venom. Derek had been pacing back and forth outside the subway car, rifling through several trunks trying to find a book that Deaton had given him. In the end, their alpha scolded them before leaving. Boyd moved from where he was sitting on the floor, squeezed between his packmates on the musty mattress, and pulled discomfort from them.

Isaac woke up with his claws in the couch cushions and Scott shaking him awake. Even though he knew his father wasn’t there anymore to punish him, the only thing he could think was _fuck, fuck, fuck, I’m going to get locked up, I ruined something, I’m going to be_ punished, _Scott’s going to kick me out_. He started hyperventilating before Scott put his hands on Isaac’s shoulders and told him to calm down.

‘ _Mom’s hated this couch for a decade, bro. My dad bought it. Honestly, you’re doing us a favor. We can finally get rid of it_ ,’ Scott had said with a smile. Isaac hesitantly returned it, trying to calm his heartbeat. Scott sat next to him and rambled on about how it was weird that Stiles and Lydia were best friends now and there was no romance between them. Isaac listened to Scott’s heartbeat, grateful the other beta knew at this point how to talk him down from an anxiety attack.

After a half an hour, Scott stood and stretched. Isaac fumbled around with the blanket and the synthetic cotton bursting from the suede cushion. Before he lay back down, Scott nudged his shoulder and motioned him upstairs.

Isaac thought, still thinks that Scott indulges him more than he should because he knows in intimate detail what Mr. Lahey did to him. He knows Isaac doesn’t like to go back to his home. He knows the other beta doesn’t like meeting with his social worker. He knows Isaac’s tactile nature has been suppressed because he spent too many years not having physical contact unless it was violent.

Scott let him sleep in his bed and made a joke about Stiles being the last person to do so, though it was years ago. Isaac mumbled a thank you into his pillow and fell asleep less tense than before. When he woke up in the morning, Melissa was cooking them breakfast. She shook her head at them when they wandered into the kitchen, Scott going straight for a hug because the room smelled like French toast. Isaac smiled when Melissa shook her son off and waved the beta over. She set down her spatula before reaching up to run her fingers through Isaac’s curls, chiding him in a motherly tone for never brushing his hair.

\- - -

Three days after he meets with his social worker, Isaac has had enough awkward conversations to last him a lifetime. So it’s natural then that he finds himself in the backseat of Stiles’ Jeep, a foot away from Lydia, who looks pristine. The beta knocks his legs against the back of the passenger seat where Scott is sitting, wondering why it was a good idea to stick the person with the longest legs in the back.

“How much longer until we get there?” Scott asks, spinning his phone in circles between his middle finger and his thumb.

“Stop doing that, you’re going to break the screen again.” Stiles’ eyes flick to the rearview mirror and Isaac catches caramel irises. “And I don’t remember, check the directions.”

“I don’t see why we have to drive four counties away,” Lydia chimes in, picking at one of her perfectly manicured nails. “Deaton should have just given you the mountain ash to begin with.”

“He doesn’t have the amount I want, Lyds,” Stiles replies, changing lanes. Isaac shouldn’t, but he listens for a rise in the teen’s pulse that comes with the easy slip of a nickname. It never comes. “Besides, you wanted that book we saw online about magic powders. This place is the closest we could find, otherwise it was order it off some sketch website and hope Danny could scramble credit card information.”

“Aconitum is not a magical powder, Stiles. It’s a weapon. It’s a _poison_.” Lydia smiles devilishly, lips pulling upwards as she hooks her chin over the back of the driver’s seat. “You can’t expect me to keep Molotov cocktails on me all the time, do you? They would be so clunky in my Marc Jacobs bag.”

“It’s big enough that you could,” Stiles says and Isaac watches him smile. “You could hide an entire emergency kit and taser in that thing.”

“Or I could take a page out of Allison’s book and hide a crossbow and a couple of knives.”

Isaac recognizes the shift in the air and without having to see Scott’s face, knows he’s frowning. Stiles punches his best friend in the arm and Lydia scoots back into her seat. Isaac gives her a look before she pushes her sunglasses back into her hair.

“I know Peter’s still around, you know.”

“He’s not much of problem these days,” Isaac offers, not sure why he’s telling her something Derek wouldn’t approve of. “Whatever he did to come back, however he used you, it screwed him up. He doesn’t smell right. His heartbeat is off.”

Lydia stares at him a little incredulously before crossing her arms. Isaac shifts beneath her gaze, fingers wrapping around his seatbelt. Scott turns the radio down from where some dance song is playing.

“Did he tell you what happened?”

“Derek did.” It’s true. Isaac asked a month after Peter came back to life how he had done it and Derek shrugged his shoulders, said he wasn’t sure, but told him what he remembered about the night of Lydia’s party. “Peter somehow got you to bring Derek back to his grave, did something with mirrors, and made it possible for him to drain him of his power temporarily.”

“You don’t know shit, Lahey.” Lydia points a finger in his face, leaning across the space in the backseat. “You don’t know how he got in my head, you don’t know what it’s like wondering why he picked you, you don’t know what the scar _still_ have looks like.”

Scott makes a whining noise from the front seat and Stiles shifts back into the right lane. Isaac shrinks back against the door, hand twitching from where it’s hidden between his thigh and the metal because the girl is too close to his face. Lydia’s eyes grow a little wider and Isaac doesn’t have to breathe through his mouth to know the air is heavy with fear and discomfort.

“You heal, you asked for the bite, you turned and can sense when danger is close.”

“Lydia,” Stiles says low, hands gripped tight around the wheel.

“I’m human, in case you haven’t noticed. I can’t use mountain ash for whatever reason-“

“Wait, what?” Scott interrupts from the front seat, turning around in his seat. “You can’t use mountain ash?”

“Don’t ask her about it, oh god, just don’t.”

“Shut your mouth, mister ‘be that spark’.”

“Oh my god, you’re just-“

“Lydia, get your hand out of Isaac’s face,” Scott says and Lydia deigns to do so.

“You can protect yourself,” she repeats, arms crossed again and still leaning into Isaac’s half of the seat. “Wolfsbane keeps me safe. If Peter comes at me, I want to be able to defend myself.”

“That’s why we’re driving two hours north to some podunk town,” Stiles says, glancing over his shoulder to offer the beta a grimace.

“I didn’t mean to undermine what he did to you,” Isaac says, balling his hands into fists.

“Don’t assume.”

The rest of the car ride is silent. Stiles turns the radio up to cover the awkwardness but it doesn’t help. He can’t smell the unease in the air. He can’t see the tremor in Lydia’s hand as she wrings it around a pleat in her skirt. He can’t hear how the uptick of her pulse hasn’t gone down since she said Peter’s name.

When they finally arrive at the aforementioned store, it’s nothing more than a seedy looking building half a mile off the interstate in a strip of other shops. Stiles offers Lydia his hand when she steps from the Jeep and Isaac tries to focus on anything other than how she’s still tense. Instead of waiting, he follows Scott into the building, flinching away when the woman manning the shop pops up from behind the counter.

They wander the store by themselves, amidst the bad lighting, an array of books, and other things that look like they shouldn’t be touched. Isaac rounds the corner of one aisle into the one Lydia is in, almost stepping back to change direction. She glances at him before sliding her finger across one of the shelves, searching for something. The beta sucks his breath in before walking towards her; the shelves are lined with jars upon jars of dried wolfsbane.

“I’m sorry,” he says, staring at the ground. He’s ducking his head, like submitting to Lydia is like the same it is for Derek or his father. The girl just tsks at him. “I, I don’t want you to think that I believe what Peter did was right.”

“Peter deserves to die,” the strawberry blonde replies, lips tugged back into the same smart grin she wore in the Jeep.

“If it makes you feel any better, I don’t like him.”

“Why would that make me feel better?”

Lydia turns on the balls of her feet, heels of her wedges gliding across the linoleum floor. She waves Isaac back a few feet to start reading another jar. The teen just watches her, how the air of fear is almost gone now.

“Jackson didn’t like him either.”

It’s like a switch, then, one he didn’t realize was still there. Lydia shoves him as hard as she can in the chest, barely making him move a foot back. Isaac gives, letting her do it: her heart is racing.

“Don’t you dare talk about him.”

Scott comes around the corner with Stiles in tow, both looking concerned. Lydia turns and drags Stiles by the hand into another aisle. Scott pats Isaac on the shoulder and reassures him that it’s not personal.

Scott sits with him in the back of the Jeep on the ride back home. No one talks so Isaac and Scott text each other back and forth about what classes Scott is taking in summer school. When they arrive back in Beacon Hills, Stiles drops Lydia off first. She gets out of the Jeep with her arms around a box of jarred wolfsbane as Scott and Stiles say goodbye. She turns around before closing the door, bites her lip, and looks directly at Isaac.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats, face half hidden behind the headrest.

Lydia’s eyes flick to Stiles before she turns around again to head inside.

\- - -

Things lull by slowly for the next week and a half. Isaac spends time with Scott and Stiles when he’s not with Derek. Lydia, Danny, and the son of the Sheriff invite him over to Lydia’s house one day and he plays guinea pig for the documentation of the effects of three types of wolfsbane at various concentrations when diluted with water. Stiles ends up driving Isaac to Deaton’s that night because his arm is covered in a rash and they bond over their fear of Lydia when she’s on a mission. Something changes between them, like that barrier of dislike for being friends with the same person has been erased.

Isaac spends afternoons at the clinic with Deaton and between assisting him with seeing clients, the veterinarian teaches him about all the strains of wolfsbane he can think of. One day an English mastiff jumps on Isaac and tackles him to the ground as the owner leaves the exam room to pay. Scott laughs so hard he almost cries. Isaac shifts and growls at the animal that fancies itself a lap dog, eyes glowing amber. The dog stops and rolls over on his back. Three seconds later he kicks Isaac with his back foot because the teen isn’t rubbing his stomach. Scott does cry then and Deaton finds them both on the floor, covered in dog hair and saliva.

Isaac tries to avoid going to the loft at night. He knows it isn’t Derek’s responsibility to look after him, even if he is the last one left of his chosen pack. It doesn’t mean knowing the room upstairs is vacant hurts any less. The warehouse is humid and warm now and sleeping there is no better than returning home. Isaac’s social worker mentions something about having the deeds signed over to the county once Isaac is placed in foster care and the teen couldn’t care less.

It’s the morning after a particularly dreadful nightmare of faceless werewolves chasing the pack through the forest that finally breaks him. Isaac spends his morning running, not really sure where to, just running. He finds himself at the Preserve and heads to the burnt ruins of his alpha’s former home. The woods are alive with the sound of birds and the occasional car that drives by, but otherwise there doesn’t seem to be anyone present.

Isaac is still a hundred feet away when he notices the door is painted red. He hasn’t been out here since the day he, Derek, and Peter walked the forest, looking for his fellow betas. His alpha hasn’t said anything about coming out here but then again Derek doesn’t tell him much these days. The man is always giving him the bare minimum.

It’s not that Derek doesn’t trust him. Isaac thinks he does, _hopes_ he does. The beta chose to stay when he had the option of leaving. He does what he’s asked and is learning to take criticism when Derek walks him through training. He misses Boyd and Erica as fiercely as his alpha does and that might be the problem.

Derek is resistant to ever speak about them. When Isaac asked if he wanted to find them after they disappeared in April, Derek very curtly said no, that it was their choice, that if they wanted to seek other packs that was their prerogative. He wasn’t going to go after people who didn’t want him. It was a lie even Isaac could detect, the blip in the alpha’s pulse loud.

When he’s finished his run around the Preserve, he makes his way home home. He’s in and out after showering and heads back to the warehouse. By the time he’s there, he’s soaked from a quick summer storm, grateful he runs warm.

He mills around, poking through boxes Derek left there as storage, waiting for eight to roll around. Erica is supposed to call him on her burn phone and Isaac is nervous as all hell. He misses her, misses Boyd, misses his _family_.

He’s going to tell them. About the Alphas. About the triskele. About Allison fleeing Beacon Hills the week after Gerard’s plan backfired. About Lydia and her penchant for wolfsbane. About Stiles and his _spark_. About Scott and Melissa. About Derek and how he misses them everyday.

When his phone finally rings, he fumbles with it from where he’s curled up on his mattress, wrapped in the blanket that no longer smells like pack.

“Isaac?”

“Hi Erica.”

“Boyd’s here too.” There’s a disturbance over the speaker and then Erica’s voice starts to echo. “Say hi.”

“Hey Boyd.”

“What’s wrong? You sound sad.”

Isaac presses back against the metal wall, balling the blanket in his free hand. “I miss you guys.”

“Isaac,” Boyd says and his tone conveys the same, just in not so many words.

“We miss you too. We do.” Erica makes a low noise before continuing. “We miss Derek. But we had to find out if there were other packs. Derek’s, he’s- he was a shitty alpha. You know that, right?”

“He’s trying. He’s better.”

“You don’t sound sure of yourself.”

“He taught Jackson how to find his anchor.”

“He taught us too, it just didn’t work.”

“When your own anchor is anger, there isn’t much to offer,” Boyd says. “We found our anchors on our own.”

“Are you ever going to come back?”

“I don’t know. We’ve found a few packs but no one seems to want bitten omegas.”

“Betas, you’re betas.”

“Only technically.”

“We need you. Please, come back.”

“Isaa-“

“Something’s happened.”

There’s a brush of something over the speaker and Erica’s voice becomes a lot clearer.

“What do you mean something’s happened?”

“I know, I know you don’t remember what happened after the Argents, tor-, tortured you.” That he fumbles over the word as quickly as he does makes his hands shake. “But you met someone. Derek, Peter, and I tracked your scents in the woods.”

“What?”

“There was a clearing, someone, you I think, someone got shot. It reeked of blood. About two miles away we picked your scents up in addition to others.”

“Other what?”

“Werewolves.”

There’s a pause and then a dissonant noise on the other end of the line.

“Start from the beginning,” Boyd says and Isaac does.

It takes an hour to recount everything he knows about the Alphas. How Deucalion likes to flaunt around town with his accent and cane, charming residents who don’t hear British pronunciations of words unless they come from a television. How Kali can completely shift, _has_ shifted and likes to run the woods on paws instead of feet. How Derek found a triskele traced on the hood of the Camaro two days ago and when Isaac asked who he thought drew it, the alpha’s eyes burned red and he grit out the name _Ennis_.

Erica and Boyd exchange hushed comments that the phone renders undecipherable. Isaac shifts from where he is sitting, now in one of the seats of the subway car, wishing they were here. Home. He wishes he could see their faces, smell their scents, go to sleep with his pack close and his alpha finally content.

He’s exhausted by the end, emotionally more than anything. His phone beeps in protest of having been used more often than it has in over two months. It’s filled with text messages, yes, but most are from Scott and less than the 160 letter count limit.

“Come home,” he says, voice soft, quiet enough they probably strain to hear it.

“Isaac.” Boyd sounds tired like he hasn’t since the day Derek offered him the bite.

“We can’t,” Erica states, sounding anything but her normal tone of confidence. “Not yet. We, we’re happy, Isaac. We want to try one more time with one of the other packs. Give us some time. Keep us updated, with the Alphas.”

“I will. I miss you,” he replies, standing from where he had he knees pulled to his chest. “Think about it.”

“We will,” comes Boyd’s tenor voice, sounding sincere and warm. It’s followed by Erica saying “Miss you, Is.”

Isaac pockets his phone and heads up the stairs to exit the warehouse, unlocking his bike from where he’s chained it to the door. He finds himself heading the opposite direction of where he’s most comfortable - the McCall’s - and toward the Stilinski’s. The Sheriff opens the door when he knocks, breath coming out in puffs that would be visible if the air wasn’t so warm.

“Mr. Lahey,” the Sheriff says, a little taken aback in jeans and raggedy t-shirt. “What can I do for you?”

“Is Stiles here?”

“Yeah, uh, yeah. Come in.” The man opens the door motioning Isaac in. He can hear noises from the second floor and sportscasters discussing the fate of Mets as they go into the seventh inning stretch against the Phillies. “Stiles!”

Isaac shifts his weight back and forth as the Sheriff and Stiles yell at each other. He hears Stiles curse before something loud drops against the carpeted floor of his room followed by noises he can’t decipher. The Sheriff shuffles back into the family room, sitting down on the couch. There’s three bottles of beer on the coffeetable, two empty and the last sweating onto a coaster.

“So, Isaac, you’ve been working with Kelsey, right? Officer Reynolds?”

“Yes.” He’d forgotten her first name. “I meet with her once a week.”

The Sheriff grimaces, hand closing around the neck of his one cold beer. “She should be meeting with you more often than that. You, we’ve-, our department and the county have been stretched thin staff wise since the Argent and Daehler cases.” The man runs a hand through his hair, the same way Stiles does, before setting the beer back down. “I’ll talk with her. I know she’s split between leaving the force to work with you kids more and more these days but our internal problems are no excuse for your current situation.”

“It’s okay.” Isaac tells himself not to start shaking and curls his hand into a fist. “She said they’ll be placing me in foster care soon.”

“You’re not-, Isaac. Where are you living right now?”

Isaac is about to answer but Stiles comes stomping down the stairs, sleeves of his hoodie pushed up his forearms and a streak of black across his neck. He glances between his father and the beta, scrunching his nose at the tension. The Sheriff sighs, grips his knees, and inclines his head toward his son.

“You didn’t tell me your friend here was still living at home.”

“Dad.” Stiles waves a hand toward Isaac, beckoning him upstairs. “Not now.”

“You and I are having a talk tomorrow, son.” The Phillies’ first baseman hits a double and Stiles’ father sighs again. “I’ll talk to Kelsey, Isaac. See if we can’t get you out of there sooner.”

“Thank you, Sheriff,” the beta says, smiling shyly before starting up the stairs.

“John. I’m only the Sheriff when I’m on duty.”

Stiles backtracks a few steps into Isaac’s space and sticks his head over the banister before saying “that’s not what you told Tara when we were at the grocery store yesterday.”

“Stiles-”

“Yeah, yeah, let me know who wins.”

The Sheriff rolls his eyes and mumbles something into the mouth of his beer as the two teenagers head to Stiles’ room. Stiles walks in, already asking what Isaac is doing there, but the teen stops in the hallway.

“Why are you here and not at-, why are you standing there.”

“I could smell the mountain ash downstairs. You have to break the barrier.”

“What is it with members of your pack always wanting to ruin my hard effort?” Stiles toes a small cut out square of carpet from the threshold with the tip of his shoe. “Come on.”

The pressure of the barrier dissolves as soon as Stiles breaks the line and Isaac steps over it cautiously. Stiles rolls his eyes before sitting down on a bare patch on the floor. Isaac sits down at his desk, taking inventory of what his friend has scattered across a sheet laid over the carpet.

“So, why are you here? I mean, I get that were friends now and that’s cool and all, but shouldn’t you be going to Scott with your problems?”

“Scott said he had something to do with his mom.”

“Oh, yeah, right. I forgot.” Stiles turns his nose up at forgetting whatever it is his best friend is busy with before leaning back on his palms. “Why are you here though? Really.”

“Erica and Boyd called earlier.”

“And?”

“I couldn’t stay at the warehouse.” It’s true; he’ll only wake up from another night of restless sleep, wolfed out and panicked. “You said I could crash here if I ever needed.”

“I kind of meant when Derek was being a asshole to you but I guess it’s okay. I doubt my dad will care.”

“Your dad’s nice.”

“My dad is awesome.”

They don’t talk much for the next hour. Isaac moves from the desk to Stiles’ bed, squirming until he’s comfortable enough to hang his arms over the edge and watch Stiles create several barriers using mountain ash, placing things in the middle of them and testing the limits of his spark. He makes a pleased noise when he’s able to contain a small fire from burning through the sheet and grins at Isaac. The beta returns it.

He debates telling _just_ Stiles. The teen would be able to mull over the information about Alphas with a much more composed reaction than Scott will. Isaac decides to tell him in the morning after Stiles’ belief wavers and the fire singes through the fabric and small patch of carpet. He asks Stiles to get Scott to come over first thing because he needs to tell them both something important. The teen squints at him before raising both eyebrows, but agrees.

Isaac passes out in the spare bedroom twenty minutes later, on top of the comforter and nose down in the pillows. He wakes up from a dream before the sun is up and rolls on his back, clinging to the blanket someone has thrown over him. It smells like dryer sheets and the Sheriff.

\- - -

Scott _loses_ it. That’s the only way to describe it. His eyes are glowing and his claws are out before Isaac can even finish telling his friend the names of all the Alphas. Stiles keeps a hand on the other beta’s forearm, voice firm as he tells him to calm down. That only irritates Scott even more before he says _Aiden_ is the name of guy Lydia went out with the past weekend.

Isaac’s hand twitches and he fights the urge to release his own claws.

Once he’s told them everything, Scott pulls out his phone, scrolling through his contacts before settling on one name. Stiles tells him ‘ _no, don’t. Scott, we need to talk about this. We, you need to talk to Derek. Dude, don’t call-_ ' but then there’s a ringer and a man’s voice flitters over the speaker, questioning. Stiles buries his face in his hands and Scott says ‘ _Mr. Argent_ ’.

Isaac leaves the moment the conversation is over. He already feels guilty for breaking Derek’s trust in him and telling Scott. He feels guilty for telling _Stiles_ , mostly because he genuinely seemed to want to talk to the alpha before their best friend dialed the hunter.

The only thing he doesn’t feel guilty about is stealing a two liter bottle of Sprite from the fridge after he vomits bile in the guest bathroom.

Isaac goes home briefly to shower again and change, pausing as he passes by Camden’s old room. He opens the door and sits down in the middle of the floor. There’s only a faint scent of what he used to smell like - chlorine and bayberry - something Isaac knows he wouldn’t be able to pick up on if he were still completely human. He lies down, curls an arm beneath his head, and falls back asleep.

There’s a pull in his gut when he wakes up. It’s irritating and familiar enough that he knows exactly where to go: the loft. He doesn’t know if it’s something all alphas can do or if it’s just Derek, but the pull is something he feels whenever he’s been away from his alpha for too long.

He wonders if Erica and Boyd can feel it too.

Isaac is all nervous energy when he starts to ride to the loft. He can smell it on himself, the acrid tinges of fear and anxiousness. Some spruced up SUV with spinning rims speeds past him and the passenger yells at him for swerving into the road.

He’s sweating by the time he reaches the tall, worn looking building Derek resides in. The Camaro is parked around the back, a RAV4 parked next to it. Isaac locks his bike to the step railing to the back entrance, heading inside. He can his own heartbeat pounding in his ears as he ascends, thoughts consumed with how he’s going to hide this from Derek. He settles on calming his breathing and wiping his hands on the front of his jeans.

It doesn’t work, of course. Ten steps into the loft and Peter is staring curiously at him, lips turning up into a full-fledged grin. Derek stops his pacing, uncrosses his arms, and stares at Isaac expectantly. The beta chews his lip, wishing Scott was here to make things easier.

“Where have you been?” Derek asks, fingers tapping away at the fabric of his jeans. “Haven’t seen you in days and when I called you last night, you didn’t answer.”

“Sorry, I was- I was with Stiles.”

“And Scott,” Peter hums from the metal table, flipping the page of the books he’s reading languidly. “Do we need to talk about how easy it is to picks up scents on you again?”

“Peter,” Derek warns. Peter just shrugs, blue eyes catching Isaac’s own.

“I saw Scott this morning.”

“And?”

“Nothing.”

Lie.

“What did you do?”

Isaac palls, takes a step back, contemplates turning around to see how far he can get before Derek storms after him. He could probably jump down through the hole in the middle of the staircase and be okay with the broken legs if it meant his alpha wouldn’t kill him as quickly.

“I think the question is _who did he tell_.”

“Isaac?”

“They’re alive,” he stammers out, hands shaking as he balls his fingers into a sweater he stole from Camden’s closet. “Erica and Boyd. They’re in San Francisco.”

“I know.”

Isaac looks up from a stained section of the concrete floor to where Derek is staring unhappily at the coffeetable.

“How?”

“You are just so fun to follow, pup,” Peter offers.

 _Pup_.

“What did you tell them?” Derek asks, dejected because he already knows the answer.

“Everything.” Isaac pops the joints in his left hand, drawing the skin tight over his knuckles. “Everything that happened since April. The Alphas.”

“You’re leaving something out.” Derek folds his arms over his chest, sighing. His eyes flash red for just a moment and the air flushes ripe with anxiety. “You told Scott, didn’t you?”

“Don’t sound so surprised, nephew.”

“Stiles, I told Stiles.”

That catches Derek’s attention and his alpha’s grimace kilts into nothing less than a sneer. Isaac takes a step back, flexing his fingers instinctively as they begin to tingle. They are _friends_.

“Why Stiles?” Peter’s interested again, leaning over the metal table in a shirt that is three inches too low.

“They needed to know. We’re friends. If-“

“Stiles and Scott aren’t pack. This doesn’t concern them. Damnit, Isaac, we can handle this. They don’t-, they’re, shit. Scott-“

“Is going to tell Chris Argent. If he hasn’t already,” Peter finishes for his nephew. “Isn’t he? How completely atypical.”

“They needed to know. All of them. Scott and Stiles.” Isaac pauses, biting his lip. “Erica and Boyd. They’re pack, Derek. We need them.”

“They ran, they abandoned you. And me. They wanted an out and they took it. Why tell them anything?”

“They’d be an advantage to our numbers,” Peter suggests, closing the book he’s absently been flipping through. “Deucalion has more wolves at his disposal than the whole of Beacon Hills does.”

“No.”

Isaac stretches his fingers out again, holding his breath as to not taste how heavy the air is. Peter looks smug from the table and Derek’s controlled façade is beginning to crumble. Isaac turns around before he too falls apart, retreating to the kitchen. He crowds himself against the refrigerator, willing the panic welling in his throat to stop.

He hides there for a few minutes until he hears the creak of the loft’s door sliding open and Peter disappears into the hallway. The moment it’s shut, Derek walks into the kitchen, looking just as pained and lost like he did when Jackson left. Isaac whines against the fridge and turns to his alpha.

“They needed to know, Derek. We don’t stand a chance if the Alphas come at us and it’s just you and me. We need them. We need Scott and Stiles too.” Isaac bites his lip as Derek’s eyes thin. “We need help. Lydia and Danny-“

“They aren’t pack. Do you not get that? They aren’t bound to us, they won’t suffer the consequences of what is going to happen if they stay out of it. You think I haven’t thought about going to Scott? About going to Stiles?”

“You have?”

“Deucalion, Kali, and Ennis. I know them, I’ve known who they are since before-” Derek huffs out a breath. “They want something, they wouldn’t be here if they didn’t. They will kill without hesitation if you get in their way. Scott may be able to handle himself, but Stiles, any of the humans-”

“Why would they care if Scott’s not pack?”

Derek goes quiet and wrings his hand around his forearm. The panic has settled and Isaac’s senses return enough to know Derek is _still_ hiding something from him.

“You need to trust me, Derek. Scott does.” The alpha makes noise akin to a growl in his throat but Isaac continues. “He and Stiles can handle more than you think. They are my friends. And I-. I miss Boyd and Erica.”

“They took the easy way out and you know it.”

“Gerard tortured them in a basement.”

“It doesn’t-“

“Yes it does.”

It makes a world of difference. Why come back, why stay in a place where you are constantly under threat? Why stay when running is the _safest_ option?

“They’re going to put me in foster care,” Isaac lets slip, pulling his sleeves past his fingers. “The county. The Sheriff is going speak with my social worker and they’re going to put me in foster care somewhere.”

Derek looks up from where he’s been glaring at the same spot in the floor, dropping his arms. He turns slightly towards the door like he’s listening for something before sighing and running a hand across his face. Isaac, already defeated, frowns and brushes past his alpha, intent on leaving before Derek yells at him some more. Instead the man raises an arm, placing it on the beta’s chest.

“Wait.”

“Derek-"

“I said wait.”

The man disappears to the main room of the loft and returns with the keys to the Camaro. Isaac watches him cautiously, discomfort beginning itch its way up his throat again. Derek hands him the keys while he runs his fingers through his hair.

“Go get your stuff. From the warehouse and your house.”

“What?”

“You’re moving in. Now go. We’ll figure out what to do with your social worker when you get back.”

Isaac just stares until Derek starts rummaging through the fridge. He motions the beta towards the door as he walks back to the metal table covered in books with a half empty jug of lemonade. Isaac follows, still speechless.

“Thank you,” he says, voice barely above a whisper.

Derek just shrugs at him, lifting Peter’s laptop from where it’s charging on the floor. Isaac grips the keys in his hand before sliding the door to the loft open. It’s the unsaid _I can’t lose you too_ that makes him smile as he drives the Camaro to his house for the very last time.

\- - -

The night passes in a flurry. Derek moves Isaac into the room above the loft, helping him unpack a house worth of personal items from the Camaro, most belonging to Isaac, a few belonging to Camden. Derek cooks them something quick for dinner before driving them to Target, telling Isaac to get whatever he needs. The beta frowns, about to say he can’t afford it, but the alpha just raises a hand. ‘ _I have the money_ ,’ he says and Isaac fights the urge to hug him like he would Scott or Stiles.

Isaac sleeps on the couch with Derek’s comforter that night and through his new mattress being delivered in the morning. When he wakes up the loft smells like food and Peter. The man is sitting at the metal table, expression calculating. He leers at Isaac before going back to whatever it is that he does on his laptop and Derek calls Isaac into the kitchen.

The alpha shoves a plate at him and tells him to help himself before sitting down at the small kitchen table. They eat in silence, the norm, until Peter yells at Derek from the other room. Isaac washes their dishes, scrubbing them until they are spotless. When Derek comes back he tells Isaac to just put them in the dishwasher and not to bother. The beta can hear his father’s voice in his head, telling him to do the opposite.

It takes a few days until Isaac feels comfortable in the loft, like a resident and no longer a guest. He spends most of free time in his room, finding places for everything in the small space. The closet is shallow and just large enough to shove his lacrosse gear in the bottom and hang most of his shirts. There’s a small chest of drawers in the corner that he fills with the rest of his clothes. He puts Camden’s things, a framed photograph of his mother, and his father’s death certificate in the bottom drawer and doesn’t open it again.

The room begins to smell like him the longer he spends in it. Derek doesn’t come in without asking or letting Isaac know by tapping on the stair railing. Isaac says _thank you_ every time and Derek just shrugs.

The only time Derek does come into his room without telling him is to wake Isaac from a nightmare. The beta shoots up in bed when the alpha touches his shoulder, claws extended from his fingers. Derek pats him once before telling him to come downstairs. Isaac pads down the staircase ten minutes later to find Derek on the couch. He points to his bed before rolling to face the cushions.

The next few weeks pass with little consequence. Isaac meets with his social worker and immediately tells her he moved in with Derek. She stares at him for a moment before shaking her head, asking him if he means Derek Hale, former criminal and accused arsonist, and Isaac snaps at her without meaning to. She takes it in stride, probably having dealt with children much more averse to this process than Isaac, and pulls a sheet of paper from her notepad.

Kelsey talks him through a brief synopsis of the process to become a legal guardian, jotting the names of documents down so he can tell Derek. It will take a few months, pending the court even deems Derek an appropriate guardian. ‘ _I wouldn’t press your luck, Isaac. The judge that handles most of the guardianship cases here in Beacon Hills won’t take kindly to someone with his past_ ,’ she says, tapping her pen away at the corner of the paper.

Isaac leaves the police station, having insisted on not meeting at his home as usual, irritated. When he arrives back at the loft, he hands Derek the list of documents they’ll need to complete and the alpha nods along. Derek tells him to go spend the afternoon with Deaton and the beta leaves him, knowing Scott is at the clinic.

When he returns to the loft that evening, Derek waves him over to the metal table before he can retreat to his room. Printed on crisp white paper are over two dozen forms, each in its own pile, flags sticking out from the edges of come packets. The man tells him to start reading over everything while he makes them dinner. Isaac sits down on the rickety stool and feels overwhelmed.

Most of the forms’ purposes are easy to decipher, others require extensive reading. There are copies of licenses and tax forms, consents to background checks and lists of former residences. Isaac’s fingers graze over Derek’s loopy signature over what seems like a hundred times. He feels like a child when he begins signing things, name scrawled unevenly.

When he asks Derek if they’ll need a lawyer - one of the forms suggests it - his alpha shakes his head, a wisp of a smile glazing over his features for only a moment. Isaac raises one eyebrow and asks why, sinking onto the couch when Derek hands him a plate of food. ‘ _I was at Columbia when I lived in New York_ ,’ he says, like that is supposed to explain anything. The beta just nods, like he understands, and eats in silence.

The next time he sees Stiles, he asks him to look it up on his laptop. The teen breaks into a full grin and obliges him because _research_. Isaac dozes on his bed until Stiles wakes him up shouting _holy shit_. He shoves the Macbook in the beta’s face, not giving him the time to focus before pointing at a screen of Columbia Law School’s Class of 2013. Derek’s picture is in the second row.

Derek left _law school_ to return to Beacon Hills.

Stiles sits down on his bed next to Isaac, scent smelling of something Isaac can’t place, mouth wide open. The beta scrolls down the page to the section listing other members of his class. Next to Derek’s name is _B.A. in History_ and _B.A. in Political Science_ , both from NYU. Isaac asks how he got to the listing and Stiles waggles his fingers in front of the screen before saying Danny has taught him things.

When Isaac goes back to the loft that afternoon, he hugs Derek in the middle of the kitchen. The alpha goes stock still, patting Isaac on the back lightly when he rubs his nose into Derek’s shoulder. Isaac hides in his room for the rest of the day, texting with Scott and to Erica’s burn phone. His packmates don’t reply but Isaac doesn’t expect them to.

Lydia comes by the animal clinic a few days later when Isaac is scheduled for the whole day. She seems tense and a little unnerved when Deaton questions her reasons for being there. Isaac remains cautious until she notices him hiding in the exam room and offers him a forced smile. Deaton calls him up to the front to wait for a client dropping their cat off for boarding, after which he can flip the _open_ sign to _closed_.

After he’s set the cat up in its kennel - the kitten mews at him until he runs his hands across its head - Isaac steps into the exam room. Lydia has both her arms crossed, lips pursed into what most would consider a pout; on Lydia it’s fierce. Deaton motions him over before telling him stop. Isaac watches as the vet circles him in a ring of mountain ash from one of the jars scattered on the metal table. Isaac starts to protest because the pressure of the barrier bares in on him the moment the circle is closed, but Deaton puts a hand up.

‘ _You’re fine, Isaac. I can break it any time you want me to, I just need to see something_ ,’ he says, setting the jar down. ‘ _Lydia, try to touch Isaac_.’

Lydia looks at Isaac, eyes determined. He tries not to squirm under her gaze but it doesn’t work. She places a hand out to touch his arm but the barrier glows and forces her back. Instinctively, the beta reaches out to catch her. Deaton flicks his wrist, the pressure dissipates, and Isaac wraps his hand around her wrist at the same time her fingers circle around his forearm.

Deaton thanks him before asking him to go take food inventory. Isaac nods and drops Lydia’s arm. She stares at him for a moment before returning her attention to the jars marked with Celtic symbols.

Isaac would be lying if he said Lydia’s pulse didn’t quicken when he touched her. He would also be lying if he said his didn’t do the same.

When he goes back to the loft that night, Peter is there. He hardly acknowledges the man before disappearing to his room. Derek calls him down an hour later for dinner. He asks why Isaac smells like mountain ash and the beta just grins.

\- - -

It’s the week before July’s full moon and the past few weeks seem surreal. On top of moving Isaac into his loft, Derek has filed all of the paperwork to become his guardian and he even spent the weekend talking Isaac through tracking scents in the Preserve. Plus, Peter’s been AWOL for two days, although according to Scott he was at the clinic last night.

Isaac is spinning circles in the chair behind the front counter when Miss Morrell walks in and the bell chimes. She offers him a subtle smile before asking if Deaton is in the back. Isaac nods and Morrell walks through the swinging door.

His phone vibrates in his pocket twice, indicating a text message: it’s from Erica’s burn phone and blank. Isaac sighs and sets it face down on the counter, resting his chin on his hand. He can barely hear the conversation in the storage room so he focuses his hearing until Miss Morrell’s voice becomes clear.

“I thought you said Scott and his friend would be here.”

“Scott took the afternoon off after Stilinski said he had to be somewhere. Neither of them seemed on edge.”

“I’ve known you my whole life, Alan, you’ll have to lie a little better than that.” Miss Morrell laughs humorlessly and Isaac tilts his head toward the back. “Even Hale’s lone beta would be able to tell.”

“Why does it matter, Marin? You haven’t said one word to those boys about the Alphas. Why meddle now?”

“Because those _boys_ just set plans into motion. You think your little lessons with your protégé and Isaac are going to be enough? You think equipping Lydia Martin with wolfsbane will protect her? You think offering advice to Stilinski will be enough to grow his _spark_?”

“You’ve been spending too much time around-”

Isaac leans too far back and the chair begins to fall. He hears a swoosh at the same time he catches himself on the edge of the desk and the conversation cuts out. _Mountain ash_ , his mind supplies - Stiles says that with enough will, a barrier can prevent sound from escaping.

It’s almost half an hour later that Morrell steps from the exam room. Her scent is muddled with agitation and the tiniest smudge of fear when she exits the clinic. Deaton tells Isaac to check on the post-surgery patients and then he is free to go.

Isaac rides his bike back to the loft in silence, hugging the edge of the road closely through traffic. The Camaro is parked in its normal space behind the building the loft is in but there are two new additions: Scott’s dirtbike and Stiles’ Jeep. The Jeep looks worse for wear, too, tires and grill covered in mud. Isaac tilts his nose up at it, catching unfamiliar scents. Then he can smell the blood.

He locks his bike before rushing up the stairs. Unrecognizable heartbeats are coming from the loft, as are familiar voices. Isaac is panting by the time he throws the door open. Stiles is standing in the middle of the room, blood streaked across his face and shirt, one hand clenched in a fist and the other pointed in Derek’s face. The Alpha turns around when he notices Isaac and grabs Stiles by the arm before dragging him into the room with the knocked down wall. Stiles protests but not before yelling for Scott.

Scott shouts from the kitchen and Isaac takes five steps before recognizing the other scents. Erica is leaning against the counter, smiling widely, hand perched on her hip. Next to her, Boyd is wearing a similar expression, an arm wrapped around her lower back. Isaac makes a noise in his throat before rushing toward them. Both betas wrap their arms around him and Scott laughs.

Finally, they’re _home_.

“Hello, Isaac,” Erica says, nosing lightly at his neck. “You smell like cat.”

“And sweat,” Boyd adds, pulling away from the hug.

“What are you guys doing here?” Isaac takes a step back, bouncing on his feet as he takes them in. “Why are you bloody? Are you injured?”

“You said you needed help,” Boyd offers as Erica pokes him in the side.

Derek yells something from the other room, followed by Stiles’ shrilling.

“Derek isn’t too happy that we’re here.”

“Why is he in a shouting match with Stiles?” Isaac looks to the other betas, then Scott. Scott just sighs and Erica laughs. “What?”

“Still in denial, huh Scott?” Erica is grinning again.

“It looks that way.”

Isaac is about to ask them to elaborate but the loft door creaks open. He recognizes the heartbeat - Peter’s because it pulses slowly since he came back from the dead - and turns to the man when he walks into the kitchen.

“Peter, this is Erica and Boyd.”

“Why are they covered in blood?”

Isaac’s eyes flick from where Peter is standing with his arms crossed to Erica. She and Boyd have both shifted slightly, just enough to be defensive. “We killed Ennis,” she says and Boyd’s fingers tangle with hers. Isaac turns to Scott: he’s smirking like he’s won something.

“Ah. And how did you manage that?”

“That’s something for us to share with Derek, not you.” Boyd’s expressionless and Isaac remembers how powerful it is. “We don’t even know you.”

“I’m Derek’s uncle,” Peter says, waving a hand in the general direction of where his nephew and Stiles are still bickering. “And you two are his little misfit runaways.”

“Peter.” Isaac’s eyes glow amber and Peter just shrugs. “They’re pack.”

“I’d hesitate to say so seeing how they’ve been missing for, let’s see, three and a half months? Tell me, did the Alphas put up much of a fight? Kali will be furious when she returns to their headquarters to find her mate slaughtered by two naïve pups.”

“How do you know Kali wasn’t there?” Scott asks, fingers flexing a few times.

“Always so quick to judge me, Scott.” Peter leers for a moment at Scott before nodding at Isaac. “Derek, Isaac, and I take turns trailing the Alphas. Not that this is any of your business. But what do you know? I’m surprised you don’t reek of that Ar-“

“Peter, shut it.” 

Derek comes into the kitchen, expression strained. Stiles ducks around him, avoiding all contact although the kitchen is crowded with six werewolves. He grins at Isaac before darting across the group and taking a place next to Scott. Isaac wonders why he also has blood on his skin.

“Just a bit of discipline, nephew.”

“You two, go home. Go tell your parents where you’ve been or don’t, you figure it out. I don’t want to see either of you until next week. “

“Why?” Isaac asks.

“Isaac, give them each one of your shirts. Then go. I’ll see you the night of the full moon.”

“We have anchors, Derek,” Erica says, leaning against Boyd. “We’ve survived more full moons without you than we did with you.”

“Pack meeting. You two came gallivanting back and all the preparations we had for how to handle this situation are worth shit now.” To Isaac’s left, Stiles rolls his eyes and Scott kicks his friend in the shin. “You two are coming as well.”

“What? Why? We aren’t pack, you made that _plenty_ clear when you were biting my head off five minutes ago-”

Derek stares at the human and his eyes flash red - a _warning_.

“You’re still not my alpha.”

“Isaac told you about the Alphas and the first thing you did was tell the Argents, Scott.” Scott blanches and Stiles bites his lip. “You’re involved whether you like it or not. Eight pm. All of you.”

\- - -

Isaac, Scott, and Stiles spend the entire day of the full moon in the woods of the Preserve. Stiles hides himself with mountain ash, climbing up trees or hiding behind rocks in the creek until the betas find him. It’s magically hide and seek and lets them practice partial shifts.

Scott is mostly quiet, the air around him a bit off. Isaac doesn’t ask why, figuring it’s the full moon. Stiles pulls him aside when Scott is over a ridge of the hill they’re climbing and says Allison is back in town. Apparently their reunion didn’t go well.

The three traipse around for another couple of hours until the sun starts to go down. Stiles jumps on Scott’s back on their hike back to the Jeep and the beta drops to the ground. Stiles goes rolling over him, through dirt and moss, and under a large pine that has sap leaking out of the trunk. Isaac laughs when a glob of it sticks to the human’s flannel shirt and Scott chides him for underestimating werewolf senses.

When they walk into the loft that night, Derek is pacing around the main room. He acknowledges Isaac with a tilt of his head and walks into the room with the knocked down wall. Stiles rolls his eyes and Scott snickers. The beta takes note that no one else is there yet and offers to show them his room.

That keeps them occupied for an hour or so, until Erica and Boyd show up, both smelling anxious. Isaac hears Derek say something to them softly before there are footsteps shaking the spiral staircase. Erica comes in first, plopping on the bed next to Stiles, and scooting up to the wall. She notices the blanket she knit Isaac months before and rubs it across her face. Boyd offers a quiet hello and sits down on the floor next to Scott.

Ten minutes later Derek shouts at them from the bottom of the stairs and Scott makes a face. Stiles mouths _oh my god_ and Erica grins. As a group they descend the metal staircase, squishing onto the couch. Their alpha is pacing back and forth, eyes flickering to the windows. He seems overly nervous for it being overcast.

Isaac finds comfort in being surrounded by his friends and his _pack_ on the full moon for the first time in months. Erica and Boyd are completely calm, both watching Derek intently. Scott seems slightly out of it and Isaac vaguely wonders if it’s because Allison is his anchor. Stiles is drumming some beat out on the armrest, feigning boredom. He finds comfort in all of their idiosyncrasies because his own anchor is slipping.

There are only so many happy memories he muster up about his father. Isaac is half convinced his brain materialized several of them, even those when his mother was still alive. They will be enough this month, aided by the fact he’s surrounded by what is now basically his family, but the fact remains his anchor isn’t going to last.

Derek sighs after another minute of silence, running a hand through his beard. He looks to the sliding door of the loft before crossing his arms and telling them point blank the reason the Alphas are there: they want Derek to join their pack and slaughter his own. Stiles' jaw drops and Scott already has his mouth open to ask a question. Derek just puts a hand up and points a finger at Erica and Boyd.

“They found you in the woods. Stole your memories and sent you on your way. Killing you wouldn’t have done them any good so they let you go. You two killing Ennis though, they’re going to retaliate,” Derek says. Erica and Boyd look at each other and then at Scott and Stiles.

“We aren’t part of your pact, Derek,” Scott says, waving a hand between himself and his best friend.

“They don’t care. They consider you pack by association. They know Stiles can use mountain ash, that Lydia is immune, that Allison is an Argent.”

“Fuck,” Stiles whispers and Scott mimics him. “Killing us won’t give you power, though. We, Lydia and Allison and Danny and I, we’re human.”

“You’re still part of Scott’s pack.”

“So what are we going to do?” Isaac asks, squirming in his seat.

The door to the loft slides open and Peter waltzes in like he isn’t trying to make a scene. He grins, far too calmly for someone who a majority of the room vehemently dislikes. Derek frowns and Peter looks pleased.

“Simple, pups,” the werewolf says, sliding the door closed with one hand behind his back. “We kill them first.”

The betas and Stiles stare at Peter then look to Derek. The man just sighs and crosses his arms. Scott starts glaring and Stiles furrows his eyebrows. From the opposite end of the couch, Erica makes a low noise.

“You’ll all be dead by fall if we don’t.” Peter walks towards what the Alphas apparently consider a pack, adjusting his sleeves where they are rolled up around his forearms. “So we strike them while they’re weak. Deucalion and his wolves haven’t left their stronghold of an apartment since last week. Something’s coming soon.”

Peter’s walks past Derek to lean against the metal table. Derek begins going into detail about how monitoring shifts are going to be implemented to keep eyes on the Alphas at all times. Humans are always to be paired with wolves. Stiles makes a comment under his breath about how Lydia won’t be keen on being placed on watches with any of them. Peter chuckles and Isaac bares his teeth. It doesn’t go unnoticed by the rest of the pack.

The night is one constant conversation of how to prepare for the worst, how everyone needs to keep in constant contact. Isaac is quiet through most of it, squished between Stiles and the armrest. While the rest of the pack argues about the ethics of using wolfsbane on a fellow werewolf, Isaac wonders if this is how packs, _real_ packs, function. There are no allusions amongst them that Scott and Stiles, that Danny and Lydia if they know what is going on - and they _have_ to know by now -, aren’t really pack. But it feels like it, like this how pack and _family_ should operate.

It’s seven in the morning when Derek finally says they can go. Stiles is dozing on Scott’s shoulder and hits Isaac in the shoulder when he flails awake. Peter, who has remained surprisingly helpful throughout the night, says something to Derek before walking past the couch. He waves a hand at Isaac like he always does, some dismissive wisp of a movement.

Isaac barely catches the scent that follows as Peter walks out of the loft. Scott’s busy hauling Stiles up and making him hand over the keys to the Jeep while Erica and Boyd are engaged in a staring contest with Derek and his unoccupied bed. They don’t notice the way Isaac’s eyes turn amber or how the air smells faintly of wolfsbane, freesia, and lilies.

There is only person in the whole of Beacon Hills who smells precisely of those things.

\- - -

It’s the second week of August and the world has gone to shit. A week prior the pack, along with the help of Lydia, Danny, and Allison, got their asses handed to them on a silver platter in the middle of an abandoned mall. Isaac still has fragments of cement beneath his fingernails. Scott’s voice is in a perpetual state of raspiness from Deucalion shoving the bladed end of his cane through the beta’s neck and into his vocal chords. Apparently the alpha of Alphas is well versed in what strains of wolfsbane will prevent a wound from healing without _killing_ the victim.

Stiles has a row of stitches across his collarbone where the bone fractured. Lydia has burns on both her palms. Erica and Boyd would be mostly alright if it were not for Kali mocking them over memories she stole. Isaac can hear her voice in his head when he closes his eyes, taunting Boyd over a sister he’s never mentioned and chastising Erica for never living up to her mother’s definition of beauty.

When Isaac sleeps he has nightmares. Some are worse than those he had when his father was still alive. Others feature the bastard and what he may have been like as a wolf. Sometimes it’s just darkness, in the woods or deep in the Ironworks, where glowing red eyes follow his every movement.

Peter of course was _conveniently_ missing during the battle. He’s currently lounging on Derek’s couch, fingers knitted together and resting in his lap, eyes closed and head tiled over the back. Isaac is one more ‘ _you should have known this would happen, nephew, what with your incessant need to make grand entrances_ ’ away from kicking Peter in the balls.

He probably could, too. Peter doesn’t consider him a threat; he never has. Not when Derek was walking Jackson through how to reel in his instincts and halt the shift, not during the nights Isaac spent in the loft with the Hales offering up whatever information he was able to gather on the Alphas, not when he confronted Peter with fangs and claws about why he smelled like _Lydia_ during the pack meeting on the last full moon. That is Peter’s weakness, Isaac’s learned.

He doesn’t take anyone, not even Derek, as a serious threat.

It’s not another snide comment about Derek’s leadership skills that breaks Isaac. No, it’s Peter and his propensity for babbling to fill silence. Isaac is convinced he does it because he loves the sound of his own voice.

Derek is at the vet clinic to talk to Deaton, something about him being a mediator for the old Hale pack. He asked Isaac to stay home and keep in touch with Erica and Boyd. Isaac agreed before knowing Peter would be using the loft for nap time.

“You know, Isaac, nothing good will come from trusting humans,” the werewolf starts, lips upturned. “They lie so easily without even thinking about it.”

“What are you talking about?” Isaac replies, fidgeting with a book on the metal table that he’s read through three times.

“You’re little infatuation with Lydia Martin.” Peter creeps open one eye and Isaac growls. “Pretty she may be but she’ll turn on you in a heartbeat. She is the reason Scott was injured, is she not?”

“That was-“

“A mistake, I’m sure.” Peter yawns before sinking further down the cushions. “Never trust humans, especially those who can conjure magic.”

“I was human.”

“Yes and now you’re not.”

“ _You’re_ the one who _used_ her, you piece of-“

“Language, pup. Don’t think that just because I’m not back in a fighting state yet that I’m harmless. I have dealt with children such as you since before Derek was born.” Isaac flicks his fingers against the table, claws clicking against the metal. Peter just smirks. “Don’t let her get into your head, Isaac. Women like Lydia may make for solid anchors but you’ve seen what happens when they turn on you.”

“What do you mean?”

“Has Derek never told you about Kate?” The silence is loud and Peter chuckles. “Let me tell you a story about young love and dangerous women with pretty faces.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This way longer than it should be. I have no reason for why this took as long as it did and no amount of excuses will make up for the procrastination of writing/editing/posting this chapter.
> 
> That being said, the story has manifested into a monster. A large scary monster. Which brings us to the updates. Rating went up to M and chapter count went up to eight: one additional chapter from Peter’s POV and an epilogue. The timeline is mostly fleshed out. Why am I doing this? This story became a _beast_. 
> 
> Because each chapter is tailored to one specific character AND the amount of time I need to cover is months long, things that happen to one character may never be touched on or only briefly mentioned in other chapters. I.e., why this chapter is so long: it sets up several important plot points for everyone else.
> 
> So, future chapters: I’ll start writing them soon. Lydia’s is next and I have the intro written. I’m not going to make promises about when I’ll be done. I literally have no idea but I hope within the next month or so? I have like three other stories floating around in my head that I just need to sit down and write if I ever get the time.
> 
> Stiles and mountain ash: I'll elaborate more during both his and Lydia's chapters but here is the jist. It's the mountain ash that's magic but we don't know the extent of what that magic can do. It's all about _belief_ and if one was to believe hard enough, I think it could be used for a variety of things.
> 
> Regarding Derek becoming Isaac's legal guardian: Jeff Davis literally gave _zero_ fucks because none of what happens to Isaac in canon would have flied with the California legal system okay. I am trying to remedy it and I am being _super_ lenient with the process. Also, what I know about PTSD has come from reading things online. Right now Isaac is just kind of dealing with it and not really treating it in anyway. That'll come eventually but there are more pressing things to deal with.
> 
> On to Lydia. I have a very specific sort of headcanon for how I see their relationship developing in canon or out and the way I am building their relationship in this story reflects that. It basically starts with Scott and how Isaac spends a lot of time with him. From there, Isaac becomes friends with Stiles and eventually Allison, which is mostly canon compliant. From association through Stiles, Isaac starts to spend time with Lydia and everything grows from there. Isaac is ardently protective of his friends; we've seen this in 3A. For this story, I see him feeling that way towards Lydia as well. 
> 
> Questions? Comments? Is the timeline too confusing? Isaac’s chapter basically begins right after the S2 finale, so like, early-mid April. It ends in the second week of August. (I have the whole story plotted by weeks because that was the easiest thing to keep track of.) Feel free to ask me to clarify things if needed. My tumblr’s [ask](http://stayingputwouldbeablunder.tumblr.com/ask) is always open.
> 
> Until next time my dears.


End file.
